


Two by Two

by generally



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, idk - Freeform, really really softcore smut?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generally/pseuds/generally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Question: What kind of pain-in-the-ass little brother<br/>A) is generally a bitch<br/>B) sneaks around with an archangel, and<br/>C) manages to keep it under Dean's expertly-tuned radar?<br/>Answer: Fucking Sam, goddamnit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two by Two

**Author's Note:**

> Just a really short little ficlet. This is my first fic on here, so I hope you enjoy it and I apologize in advance for how bad it probably is; I'm my own beta. Comments are always appreciated! You can find me on tumblr at "theyfall." Cheers! xx

Looking back, Dean knows he totally should have seen that one coming.

They're staying in some shitty motel in Arkansas, hunting down a Wendigo that did  _not_ want to be messed with. Sam already has a cut on his arm from when the son of a bitch lashed out at him in the woods, and Dean got nailed all over at least as bad as Sam.

They aren't exactly on top of their game, to be honest. Dean can't really put his finger on it, and he  _definitely_ doesn't want to put down "being too distracted by his not-exactly PG-rated thoughts about Cas to be able to load a salt gun properly" as the cause because that's not it at all.

Not even a little bit.

Anyways, the Winchesters' performance has been a little sub-par lately (on this hunt especially). Dean knows that they can usually gank Wendigos within a matter of a weekend, tops. It's been six days, and Dean's not all that willing to keep shelling out sixty bucks a night for the motel room.

It's late on Thursday night by the time they finally make it back to the hotel room, exhausted. Dean collapses onto his bed without even taking off his shoes, and he's asleep before his head hits the pillow. 

When both of them are awake and somewhat functioning the next morning, they decide to head down to the diner they've been regularing for the past week. Dean hasn't even finished his first cup of coffee when Cas and Gabriel show up, Cas across from Dean and Gabriel across from Sam. 

"Dean-o! Sammykins! How goes the salting and burning?" Gabriel takes a large sucker from his pocket and pops it into his mouth, twirling the stick around with his finger. Sam stares. 

"Spectacular," Dean grumbles into his coffee. 

Cas narrows his eyes a little at Dean. "That tone of voice indicates that you and Sam are  _not_ doing spectacular." 

"What do you want, a medal?" Dean snaps at the angel before sighing. "Sorry, my bad. It's just that this Wendigo is running us ragged. It's like there's a fucking forcefield around him or something." 

Sam nods in agreement. "Yeah. I'm sore all over, and there's this huge gash on my arm," he tells the angels, rolling his sleeve up to his shoulder to expose the wound.

"Sheesh," Gabriel remarks with a grimace. "That is one motivated cannibal." 

"Tell me about it." 

The rest of breakfast passes uneventfully, and the angels depart without eating a thing, per the norm (except Gabriel, who steals a strawberry slice off of Sam's pancakes and eats it with a smug grin). The hunters decide to take a night off from hunting the Wendigo, and they spend the afternoon in the motel room with Dean watching  _Dr. Sexy, M.D._ reruns and Sam browsing his laptop. When dinnertime rolls around, Sam offers to go pick up some burgers while Dean stays in the room. 

After a while, Dean notices that it's been over an episode since Sam left for the food. Just as Dean is about to reach for his phone to call him, Sam opens the door and walks in with a take-out bag. His hair is messed up and he looks a little disheveled as he sets the bag of food down next to Dean.  Dean raises an eyebrow. "Damn, Sammy, what happened?"

Sam looks stricken for a moment, running a hand over his hair to try and smooth it down. "I, uh...I got in...a fight," he says hesitantly.

"A  _fight?_ " Dean repeats, creasing his eyebrows. "What are you, retarded? If you had gotten arrested, we would have..." He trails off when he notices the cut on Sam's arm, or rather its absence. "What's with the arm?"  

He runs a hand over where the wound used to be. "I went and...bought some Neosporin. For the cut. That's why I took so long, I had to go to the drugstore to get it," he tells Dean hurriedly. A sudden thought crosses his mind, and he moves his hand to cover a portion of the skin of his neck by his jaw. 

Dean looks from the bag of food to Sam and back. "So where is it?"

"Where's what?"

He grins, noticing Sam trying desperately to hide whatever hickey he had gotten from banging the hot cashier of the fast food joint or whoever the hell Sam had gotten it on with (which didn't seem fair, since Dean called mental dibs on her). "The bag with the Neosporin." 

"I...I used it all." 

Smirking at his brother, Dean chuckles. "Sure you did." That pisses Sam off, and he retreats into the bathroom. _To put on the Neosporin?_ Dean thinks, smiling to himself. Yeah, right. Dean isn't stupid; he knows what Sammy's up to.

But he sure as hell doesn't know the whole story.  

 

*~*~*~*

Sam's getting the food for the second night in a row, and this time Dean offers him a half-hour window for getting it on with Ruby the cashier again, who seems like she's too into S&M for Dean's tastes. Sam comes back with the food just like the night before, and they eat it in a slightly awkward silence because Dean knows what Sam's been doing and Sam knows that Dean knows, and the whole thing is actually kind of ridiculous to Dean.

Dean is absorbed in the show on TV, but all of a sudden, his concentration is broken by a low noise coming from Sam's bed that honest-to-God sounds like a purring cat. Dean turns to look, and there's Sam, sitting cross-legged with his head tilted back, smiling with his eyes closed. His hair is moving on its own accord, like it's being brushed by an invisible person or something. "Dude, what the fuck?" Dean snaps loudly, and Sam gives a small yelp as his eyes shoot open and he turns to look behind him. When he finds no one there, his expression falls and is replaced with irritation.

"Damn it..." he mutters, getting off of the bed and reaching for the Impala's keys and his wallet.

Dean sits up, staring at Sam. "What the hell was that just now?" he asks again. 

Sam ignores his question, storming out of the room muttering something to himself. Dean catches the word "Gabe," but that's it. 

But when the door slams, Dean glances at Sam's bed. There, on the duvet, is a candy wrapper.

Sam wasn't eating candy in the room.

Dean flops back down onto the pillows.  _What the everloving_ fuck?

 

*~*~*~*

He's not sure how it happens, but eventually Dean ends up with Cas on top of him, one hand clutching the hair at the nape of Dean's neck and the other invading the warm skin underneath the waistband of Dean's boxers. Dean's shirt is on the floor along with Cas's coat and  _holy shit_ Cas is a good kisser. Like, really good. Dean has his hands up Cas's shirt, tracing the ridges of Cas's shoulder blades.

"Fuck, Cas, I didn't know you were such a slut," Dean murmurs thickly against his mouth, smirking.

In response, Cas rolls his hips down into Dean's, swallowing the moan that escapes from the back of Dean's throat, and he is  _not_ going to last. "Fuck, Cas," he says again, unknotting the tie from Cas's neck and thumbing the shirt buttons open. He gets about half of them undone when he hears the disticinct _jingle_ of keys. "Shit, shit, shit," he whispers urgently to Cas, "get out of here, _now_." Cas obliges, and Dean fumbles for his shirt on the ground, tugging it over his head and flicking on the television. He grabs a pillow and throws it over his crotch just as Sam unlocks the door and gets inside.

"Why'd you lock the door?"

"I dunno, it locked on its own," Dean answers as evenly as he can, kicking himself for his obvious shortness of breath. 

Sam shrugs, kicking off his shoes and plopping down on his bed. "Okay." A silence follows, and Dean could sigh with the relief of not being discovered.

His relief is short-lived.

"Care to explain why Cassie's looking a little out of sorts, Dean-o?" Gabriel inquires as he appears suddenly in the center of the motel room, gesturing to the trench coat on the floor that Cas had forgotten to take (damn it), a huge smile on his face.

Dean glares at the archangel. "Fuck you, Gabriel."

A mischievious twinkle appears in Gabriel's eyes. "I think Sam's already taken care of that. Multiple times, I might add."

Sam turns beet red, looking down at his lap. "Gabe..."

"Wait..." Dean says, and trails off for just a second because  _how the fuck did he miss that?_ "...you've been..."

"Bingo!" Gabriel exclaims gleefully. "And  _damn,_ is he good! Peace out, Winchesters!" And with that, Gabriel snaps his fingers and vanishes with a sound like rustling clothing.

Dean grimaces. " _Really_ didn't need to know that, douchedick," he snaps to the empty center of the room.

Sam's face is still flushed. "Dean, I'm sorry that - "

Sighing, Dean gives a half-smile. "No problem, man. Whatever. I'm not holding it against you." 

"Thanks." Sam sounds relieved, and the color begins to drain from his face. They sit in silence for a few moments until Sam breaks it. "Nice pillow."

"Shut the fuck up."

*~*~*~*

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are much appreciated for telling me if I did okay or what I can improve on! Love you all xx


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